


You Said It First

by orphan_account



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: I'm judging myself so you don't have to., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 02:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18769171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's a picture of Tyler in green swim trunks and a white shirt that I entirely blame for this.





	You Said It First

The beach was slimmer than Michael had expected. He’d grown up in Chicago on movies depicting a beach as something deep yellow and crowded with long piers that pushed out into the Pacific. Florida was something new this time, outside the Orlando loop of Disney and Universal. The water was a pale shell blue gone clear over the ripples of sandbars that huddled close to the shoreline. The water dribbled in and out, barely cresting, sighing against the white sand gently. They’d parked in a perfectly square lot that was just off the two-laned county highway that wandered in a nearly straight line up the coastal keys, hopping a few short bridges that were littered with sun dark fishermen on bait bucket covered bikes. He’d watched Tyler stretch his way out of the rental Jeep, pushing long arms over his head to shiver into a mind boggling strip of golden sun kissed skin between the bottom hem of his t-shirt and the drawstring waist of his trunks. 

Tyler had been sent to Tampa Florida to shoot an independent film that focused on a dark story of drugs and betrayal. He’d been gone for a _month_.  
A month was two weeks and 14 days longer than Michael wanted to spend apart after 3 years of false starts and heartbreak. They’d finally settled into this after Michael nearly died doing a stunt himself. He’d come to with Tyler yelling at him, blood smeared over his jaw and slick on his fingers. Michael had managed to toss him a genuine smile, feeling the moment what he needed clicked into place; Tyler’s love settling into his chest with a nearly audible sigh. Tyler loved him. Tyler was in love with him: present tense. He’d screamed it at him until Michael came to, bleeding with a broken wrist and wishing that they’d talked earlier. 

In the hospital, he’d touched Tyler into a corner like he was something sacred, wiping the flaking blood from his cheek with gentle fingers and touched him into trembling. 

Michael didn’t feel bad about not keeping his hands to himself anymore. 

A month in the Florida sun had burnished Tyler warmer, crisped a beautiful tan like sugar cookies left too long in an oven. He didn’t realize the way Michael was just staring behind his dark sunglasses. Tyler casually stretched and then sprayed the SPF over his arms. It coated the fine dark hairs before sinking liquid to give him a nearly oiled perfection. Michael wet his lips and swallowed, tucking his tongue at the corner of his mouth on a long strained exhale.

“C'mere,” Tyler said, clipped. Michael followed the order nearly helplessly. He sauntered around the Jeep, tilting his head and watching as Tyler finished spraying his thighs, hitching the dark green fabric of his swim shorts higher. Michael’s mouth watered at the slight haze of paler skin and reached to steady himself with a hand on the roll bar. He cocked his chin, eyes going liquid with want as he let his gaze slip to hold on Tyler’s lips. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“I can feel you flirting with me, Vlamis.”

“Oh,” Michael started, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of white cotton to duck his jaw along Tyler’s. “I was just looking.” There’s a flicker of tongue, tasting the chemical coconut of sunscreen. “ _Again._ ”

“Jesus.”

Michael smiled, eyes narrowing as he pulled back just enough to see the way Tyler’s mouth had dropped open just a little, a flicker of pink tongue meant Tyler was thinking about Michael’s mouth. It was easy to see once he knew what to look for, this _hunger_.

Tyler was wearing mirrored aviators, a straw hat with a broad brim, green swim trunks, and one of Michael’s white t-shirts rolled at the shoulder. They’d barely made it out of the hotel room that morning. Michael had walked out of the shower and seen Tyler lounging on the horrible patterned bedspread, legs crossed neatly at the ankle and reading from his phone. There was just something about Tyler Blackburn that made Michael want to muss him up. 

He’d blown out a rough breath, chest heaving once and said Tyler’s name in a low voice that pulled his dark eyes up from where he was reading. He’d just looked at Michael for a long moment before simply setting his phone aside, a neat click of sound on the nightstand and uncrossed his legs, slipping down the bed in a quick wriggle as he shoved at his shorts. Michael was in motion before he’s finished groaning his name. 

He took his second shower with company. They left half an hour later than intended, but Tyler was more flexible than he looked.

The narrow boardwalk that led between a small permanent port-a-potty and a post with three shower heads and a foot activated faucet came to an abrupt end, dunes covered with golden sea oats leaning backward toward the old mangrove tangle. Michael had a towel slung over his shoulder and a cooler tucked against his hip. He was watching Tyler walk in front of him, one hand holding his hat- the clip off the water windier than Michael had known it would be. He could feel the way it was tangling his curls, messing them about as it kicked over the white sand. He smiled, bright and open when Tyler laughed, pausing to set the beach chairs down and chase an unamused seagull into annoyed squawking flight. 

They’d been told about this beach by a local, off the beaten path just outside of a small town called Dunedin. They’d been the only car in the parking lot and now as they turned the corner the slim beach sprawled out in front of them, a few smaller keys clustered to the north. The water stretched to the horizon, blue on blue on blue, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. The heat was trapped between the sand and the clouds, pressing against Michael’s shoulder like a kiss. He tipped his head back before just dropping the cooler carefully in the sand, setting his towel on top and reaching down to unbutton the last three buttons on his thin Hawaiian shirt. It flapped open, smacking around his hips and the short baby blue swim trunks he’d bought as a joke in the thrift shop on the way. He spread his arms and leaned back into the breeze. The sun was like a physical touch, smearing over his face, his chest, low on his stomach, and over his thighs and the tops of his bare feet. The sand was hot, forcing him to pick his feet up a few times before simply starting towards the water.

Tyler was standing, staring out at the horizon, black hair fluttering under the brim of his hat. Michael sighed and brushed past him, nearly skipping into the water, cold on first brush and then warm around his ankles. He turned, saluting Tyler where he was grinning amused and flopped backwards into the low swell of waves.

He came out spluttering, shaking his head and pushing his wet hair out of his face as he wiped at his mouth.

“It’s fucking salty.”

Tyler snorted. “Yes, Vlamis. _Surprise_. The Gulf is salt water.”

“Like, I _know_ that.” Michael sniffed, tongue tucked against his molar as he dripped through a half smile, Hawaiian shirt plastered to his back and sides, thin fabric of his swim trunks sticking to his thighs. “But, it’s… it’s so clear my brain decided it was pool water?”

Tyler just laughed at him, bright and shockingly beautiful. Michael couldn’t even pretend indignance when all he could do was stare. 

He was allowed to _have_ this. He was allowed to stand here knee deep in waves and watch Tyler in wonder. He was allowed to reach out, pulling at him with his wet fingers, tugging and moving him until he was at the water’s edge, stopping there to protect his shoes. Michael was allowed to watch him up close. Tyler Blackburn smelled warm and spicy, softly sweet like coconut and sunscreen. He’d feel slippery and Michael _wanted_. He wet his lips, tasting salt and felt his mouth drop open, gaze flickering to Tyler’s mouth when he exhaled in return. 

Tyler’s skin was sun warm and as slippery as Michael had hoped, his stomach a smooth flat stretch against his knuckles as he slipped the tips of his fingers along the waist of Tyler’s shorts. He cocked his head, eyes gone liquid and hair flat wet curls dripping onto his shoulders. He could feel the prickle of his chest hair drying, the way the fine hair on his calves tickled the breeze. He wanted Tyler’s hand flat on his belly. He wanted his hand in his hair. He wanted to duck forward, to catch his name on Tyler’s breath and to slip his tongue _inside_. Tyler’s kisses were obscene, wet and wanting with touches of teeth and soft grumbled moans that could be his _name_ , could be _more_.

In the beginning, when it was still new to be free to touch him, they’d stayed locked away for hours, for days. He’d come so often it hurt, breathless and mewling, overstimulated and pushing for still more. He was starved, pulling himself over Tyler’s hips and ducking to taste the hollow at the divot of his jaw. Michael had been blotchy with need, face flushed, the heat of it spilling down his neck to bloom over his chest. He’d rolled his hips, hard and leaking against the jut of Tyler’s hipbone. Tyler had arched, head back and throat working as he worked himself back to hard. They’d been sticky and bruised, exhausted and still reaching for _more_ , please, fuck more, just _let_ me, _god_ , just there, _yes_.

“ _ **Tyler**_.”

He’d learned the way to say Tyler’s name so that he’d drop a hand to curl around his wrist, eyes gone black with lust swollen pupil. He could feel the way Tyler would stiffen, calves cording on a pulse of need as a muscle in his jaw jumped. This was Michael’s favorite. His other favorite. Different from the Tyler who laughed free and bright, showing teeth and helplessly fond. Different from the Tyler who grumbled and pushed his face deeper into a pillow to hide from waking. Different from the Tyler who woke him up with a soft smile and his lips on his dick. Different Tyler. All of them his favorite. Pliant Tyler, demanding Tyler, rough Tyler, gentle Tyler who touched him like something beautiful and priceless. Tyler who would roll sleepily to cover his back, pushing his cock to slip between Michael’s thighs, brushing against him with a lazy pump of hips until Michael growled in frustration and spread his knees to make room, pushing back greedily.

Tyler carding his fingers into his curls. Tyler standing sleep confused in the middle of his kitchen looking for his glasses that were on his head by using the flashlight on the phone he couldn’t find without his glasses.

Tyler, caught close against his knuckles in the Florida sunshine, looking at him with _intent_ and _hunger_ over the tops of his mirrored Aviators. “ _Michael_.”

And later, Michael would shower the sand from behind his knees with a helpless goofy smile, tossing Tyler a wink as he sucked the taste of him from his teeth.


End file.
